Dining with Death

Death beckoned me to join him for a cup of coffee,
served with a side of decadent piece of 5-layer
double fudge rich, dark chocolate cake. 
He wanted “to talk”, he said.
For the past year, she had watched me deteriorate 
into nothingness from the strong-willed woman she knew.
She encouraged me to go with him,
despite the paralyzing fear that had overtaken me. 
After coffee, we walked back to his place,
He asked me to join him inside.
There was no hesitation in my voice
when I agreed to join him for a nightcap.
I was committed to lying in his bed and
letting him have his way with me. 
After all, there was nothing left for me in this world,
so why not move onto the next? 
The interesting thing about depression is that
I never noticed exactly when she moved in.
She was the ghost of longing that left my life
disheveled, displeasured and discouraged. 
My friends said nothing when I told them  
I invited her to stay for a while and who were they to judge? 
My family couldn’t say anything either because
I didn’t tell them I took her as my lover.
Unhappiness was left free, then, to roam about,
unquestioned, nor confronted when she left
dark stains of wallowing residue along the
corridors of my once joyful life.
He was just another decoration for my boudoir
that reminded me of reprehensible disappointment
Nothing to drive me to get up in the morning 
Nothing to give me hope when my faith was lost.
When there was no passion left in life,
When all the others had left me alone
It was he who was there,
There was death.
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